


Metronome (the piece of me I wish I didn’t need)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Sentinel, The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types, Walking Dead
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sentinel Senses, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Soul Bond, Soulmates, adult landuage, eventually, mild dub-con due to the trope but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The silence was perfect. A deafening cymbal of nothingness as Glenn's lips fish-tailed. Stuttering. And honestly, he was right there with him. From what he'd gathered over the past few years - clips of conversation heard mostly in passing from the others during the quiet nights, fireside - was that while he was in coma, when things got bad, the Sentinels were on the front lines, together with their guides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: The idea for the pairing itself was inspired by 5x15 when Rick pulls his gun on the bystanders during the fight with Pete. I was interested in Nicholas' actions, where instead of backing away or pulling Tobin in front of him, he protects Tobin, laying his hand on Tobin's chest and actively pulling him away as he steps back.
> 
> Warnings: Spoilers for 5x15 and vaguely for the rest of the season in terms of canon character deaths. Meant to fit in a few months after the events of the season finale. Set in the Sentinel/Guide trope universe where Tobin is a Sentinel: a person with enhanced senses. And Nicholas is a guide: a person that helps a Sentinel control their gifts and keep them from 'zoning' or hyper-focusing on one sense and thus vulnerable. Something, which in more severe cases, can lead to death. The connection or bond between a sentinel and guide is a soul deep and almost spiritual thing that is generally considered pre-destined. Much like the soul-bond/one-love trope. *Contains: slash, adult language, adult content, possible consent issues – could be considered dub con due to the trope but nothing serious, mild classism: Sentinels often have a privileged status over that of guides despite the fact that there is a shortage of Guides per Sentinel. Deals with issues of drug-use and addition. This story doesn't touch on the fact that Tobin was revealed to have a family in the finale. 
> 
> *This chapter will be told in Rick's point of view.

"I found it the other day while I was out with Spencer and Rosita on that supply run," Glenn explained, standing over the remains of a small fire. Cold and sable black in a shallow, hand dug pit at the base of a gnarled oak. It was tucked into a small notch of trees, protected from view from all sides but one. Downwind. Perfect for someone with something to hide.

"The coals were still warm when I found it. This close to the wall? Has to be one of ours," Glenn continued, watching him sink down on his haunches as he used a stick to prod through the singed edges of burned packaging. Colt Python digging into his side as he kept one hand on the snaps of his holster. "Figured you'd want to see it."

"Yeah, looks like we have a problem, alright," he replied, the words coming out in a slow, rolling drawl as he unearthed a small vial, distracted as he tried to make out the label.

"Rick, this is serious," Glenn insisted, looking around suspiciously before catching his gaze and holding it. "If there's someone using in there…they're probably making it inside. That's dangerous. Crack. Meth. All it'll take is mixing the wrong chemicals at the wrong time and- well, you've probably been to  _those_ crime scenes."

"More than once," he responded, raising a brow when the flash of a familiar name caught his eye. An experimental drug with an unpronounceable name, then another and another. An empty bottle of cognitive blockers, a handful of undistinguishable, burned-out papers and an empty travel-sized container of codeine-laced painkillers.

_No. It couldn't be. That would mean-_

He abandoned the stick and dusted off the label of the first package, mind racing. Already mentally reviewing every person he'd spoken to. Every piece of interaction. Every off-centre little tell he'd noticed from every member of the community he'd gotten to know over the past few months.  _Everything._  Only to come up blank.

"We can't afford a junkie on the inside. Things are unstable enough after losing Reg and Pete…we're barely holding it together as it is," Glenn added, running his hands through his hair with a sigh. Looking back in the direction of the walled town with a tired sort of firmness. Like he was calculating the variables, trying to figure out the best course of action, the best play even though he'd clearly missed the most integral part of the puzzle.

He wasn't surprised.

Most people wouldn't.

Most cops wouldn't either.

"No, it's worse than that," he shared, tone thick with an almost conversational sort of slowness as he eased himself back to his feet. Feeling the strain in his kneecaps despite the fact that he swallowed the grunt. Radiating forced calm as he cycled through the options, one after another, sparing the younger man a significant look when Glenn rounded on him.

" _Worse?_  How can it get worse than having some crack-head with access to the entire gun lock-up and god knows what else inside the walls when-?"

"We aren't dealing with a junkie. This is home-made  _guide_  in a bottle."

The silence was perfect. A deafening cymbal of nothingness as Glenn's lips fish-tailed.  _Stuttering_. And honestly, he was right there with him. From what he'd gathered over the past few years - clips of conversation heard mostly in passing from the others during the quiet nights, fireside - was that while he was in coma, when things got bad, the Sentinels had been on the front lines, together with their guides.

Almost every city had been host to a final stand. Whether it was ordered by the Tower or not. It wasn't in a Sentinel's nature to run. So when the cities fell, the Sentinels went down with them. Burning away into obscurity, like a final swan song of an already dying genetic code.

_Sentinels. Guides. Bonded Pairs. All of them. Gone._

Lori had told him – hushed and pale in the privacy of their tent not that long after they'd been reunited – how Atlanta's Alpha Sentinel and Guide pair had still been out on the streets, helping those who'd been left behind try to evacuate – holding the lines with what was left of the military when the Governor had given the order to firebomb the city. They'd refused to leave. Even when all hope of saving Atlanta was gone. And they hadn't been the only ones. All over the country, it had been the same story. It was like, with one fell swoop, America had been cored out.

Even now the loss was hard to swallow. Hard to contemplate. It was sorrow without measure, priceless in the insurmountability of their loss –  _their absence_. Sentinels were rare. Guides even more so. Bonded pairs? Times that by a couple hundred thousand and then some. But Alphas on top of it? Well, let's just say that not even D.C had a bonded Alpha pair.

They had been bonded since they were teenagers. One of the lucky few who'd found their fated first try. And it was little wonder. From what the Tower boasted, they'd practically been made for each other. Both strong and fully online. Mirror images of the other in terms of ability and strength. Quickly outpacing their peers as the beauty of their partnership eventually inspired thousands around the state to willingly sign up for Guide aptitude testing.

He'd grown up knowing their names, everyone did. He'd even met them in passing, when they'd toured the new station house in King's County after all the renovations a few years after he'd come on. The two women were rarely out of each other's sight, hand in hand, smiling and proud. Openly affectionate and equally as fierce as they patrolled the city and the surrounding suburbs – their official territory – with the unwavering loyalty of any large predator.

_But the thing about Sentinels is that they aren't supposed to be alone._

_A Sentinel and their Guide were a matched set. Balanced and strong._

_But a Sentinel by itself? Full-grown? Well-_

Glenn took a breath, pushing out the vestiges of the old like he was moving mountains. Extending a hand to take one of the half-melted containers as he crouched back down and started salvaging what they could to take back with them. Knowing Deanna was going to want to see it laid out before Glenn finally came to terms with whatever he was chewing on and fixed him with a piercing look.

"But that means…."

His expression felt grim on his face, the opposite of what it probably should have been as it pulled back his lips to show his teeth. A hard line of plaque-stained ivory, sharp, uncompromising and just the tail-edge of vicious as he followed Glenn's stare back through the trees.

"There's a rogue Sentinel in Alexandria."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> *Bonded: The Sentinel/Guide relationship is a lot like the soul bond/soulmate trope. In my version of the trope there is one perfect Guide for every Sentinel and one perfect Sentinel for every Guide. Being a bonded pair means you are with your 'soul-mate' and are the strongest Sentinel/Guide you can be because you are 'complete.' In my version of the trope, a bonded pairing is also a sexual and romantic partnership.
> 
> \- However, like in most versions of the Sentinel/Guide trope, Guides are present in society in much lower numbers than there are Sentinels (who also make up a very low percentage of the population), so finding your bonded is very hard. Often Sentinel's must settle for the next best thing, or accept shallow platonic substitute bonds with temporally assigned Guides until they find their match. This is not ideal and often leads to problems.
> 
> *Alpha pair: The strongest bonded pair in a particular area. Meaning, usually, all five senses are active within the Sentinel and the Guide had strong emphatic abilities. They are considered the Sentinel/Guide authority in that area and often are considered up there with the Governor or Mayor of a particular state/city in terms of power and position.
> 
> *The Tower: Is a fandom creation that is the managing system for Sentinel's and Guides. Often where they are trained, discovered, paired and managed. Like a connecting Government body, the Tower acts like any other facet of the government – specific in terms of dealing with Sentinel and Guide related matters.
> 
> \- In many fics it is seen as a corrupt entity that abuses Guides and sees them as second-class citizens - more the property of their Sentinel than people in their own right. However, in my story, that is not fully the case. There are some hints at the Tower's not so shining history when it comes to Guide-related matters, but mostly it has been revamped into something 'better' in the modern age. Though the residual history still affects people's opinions regarding it. Something which is probably not helped by the fact that due to the Guide shortage the Tower pursues potential guides fiercely and once a guide has been discovered, they have little choice but to be trained and assigned along with their peers.
> 
> \- It is important to point out that there is a power imbalance here. While Sentinel's are the ones with the power and physically manifested strengths, they need their guide. Bonded pairs need each other mind you, but a Guide doesn't need a Sentinel the same way as a Sentinel often needs a Guide just to function. Most Guides are empathetic, very in tuned with their emotions and the emotions of others but unless they have sensed their bonded, they don't feel the pull to need a Sentinel in their everyday life. Sentinels on the other hand, have a hard time functioning in everyday life after their senses come online – which for both Sentinels and Guides is around the age of consent – 17-20 years of age.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is also told in the perspective of Rick Grimes

"If we are going to confront this individual we need to do it properly," Deanna remarked firmly. Leaning against the table, arms spread, all five foot nothing with tired bags punched deep under her eyes as her mug of tea steamed out into the softly lit-dark.

The pillar candle in the center of the table writhed. Caught in the backwash of seven individual breaths as Maggie, Glenn, Abraham, Spencer, Michonne and himself hazed in and out of the shadows. They were conserving power. Cutting down to create a surplus when and if they needed it, while Eugene worked on perfecting the system.

"They're one of us, first and foremost.  _Family_. And they will be treated as such. No different from anyone in this community," she continued, letting the moment rest as the others nursed their own mugs of tea – earl grey and weak - before continuing. Voice even and careful.

"But that being said, I know you all recognize that they're also a valuable  _asset_  to our community. One we can't afford to lose over something that could be easily solved. Or even be a complete misunderstanding," Deanna added, gaze sharp as flint as she indicated towards the melted bottles and empty glass vials he and Glenn had brought back with them. Carefully wrapped in a rank, blood-stained shirt they'd sliced off a walker to mask the scent.

"We don't have all the facts. At this point, it is all supposition," she affirmed, quick to hold up a hand to forestall any argument, beating him to it as he shifted in place. "That being said, I think you're right, Rick. But this has to be handled delicately. It has to go  _right_ the first time or we might as well start digging another grave."

"I'll agree with that," he returned, meaning every bit of it as he leaned back in his chair. Fingers curling around the searing of his mug. Minutely aware of Glenn and Maggie shifting uncertainly on either side of him, surprised as the truth behind the words left his lips easily. More an affirmation than his usual standby of a threat.

"You and I both know that an unbonded Sentinel is a time bomb. A disaster waiting to happen," he remarked slowly, feeling the knobs of his spine grate across the back of his chair as he met her gaze from across the table. Taking note of the way Spencer's eyes narrowed – overprotective – when he settled his elbows on the table.

"If he- _they_  are taking this stuff," he sustained, indicating towards the small bundle of trash in front of him. "It's because they have no other choice. That means they've lost their Guide. Or they never had one in the first place. That isn't stable. That  _isn't_  an asset. That's a liability, plain and simple.  _Dangerous_."

"So we help them," Deanna countered, hair kissing the curve of her cheek as it coiffed inwards, still host to that same impeccably styled flare that had been present from across that living room the day they'd first arrived.

"How?"

"We give them what they need. If everyone agrees to it," Deanna replied promptly, prepared. Reminding them, perhaps not in the most subtle way possible, that she was still a politician at heart. She probably had a contingency for just about anything. The only catch was if the plan was any good or not.

But despite their disagreements in the past, this time he was willing to listen. That was the difference the past few months had made. And as much as it itched at him, he was determined to keep the guarded, mutual respect they'd come to share in place. For now.

"We have two Guides, card-carrying even. Both of them are unbonded but were on-call at the Tower for temporary Sentinel assignment. They tested on the spectrum. Not strong, but they were on the Tower's roster," she explained, eyes bright, laying it all down as she straightened. Full height fierce, but unimposing before folding herself gracefully back into her seat and taking a careful sip from her mug.

"And say they don't take?" he interjected, playing the rough-shot devil's advocate over her optimistic, best case scenario. "Say neither of them are the right fit. Or the Sentinel rejects them out right. Been known to happen. Especially when you're dealing with the survivor of a broken bond."

"Not even to stabilize them?" Deanna questioned, tone laced with an incredulous sort of annoyance that more than one of the others seemed to share. "If they're desperate enough to risk injecting themselves with… _this_ who is to say that they will be in any shape to tell compatibility from sanity?"

"It's worth a try.  _They are_. Anyone would be. We can't give up on people, Rick," Maggie offered quietly, index finger tapping out the strength in every syllable as Glenn, Deanna and Michonne watched her closely. "Not even when it's hard. Nothing worth doing ever is easy. It's always hard won, but in the end, it matters…it  _lasts_."

"Agreed," Michonne hummed, sitting backwards in her chair as her long hair coiled dark in the shadows. "Whoever it is, they need us, just as much as we need them. And taking this junk isn't a solution, its desperation. We know that.  _They know that_."

Abraham leaned back, arms crossed, lips twitching when the chair creaked. "Besides that, a Sentinel could mean a world of difference around here. Depending on their level and what shape they're in, they could probably get by all right with a stand-in. Won't go AWOL anyway," the red-head grunted.

"I've seen it happen. Not this bad. Not this length of time without some sort of Tower interference. But the Sentinels I worked with in the service? Tough bastards. Every single one of 'em. Could be half dead and they'd still give you a run for your money. You'd be surprised what they can survive. What they can come back from."

"With a Guide – even a low one - that takes out the risk of them completely losing it. Least not without giving us some sort of warning first. Worst you'd have to worry about is a slow fade. Or shitty sense ability and that's on them. Cuts down on the risk anyway," Abraham remarked with a shrug. Apparently convinced as Deanna and Michonne directed their gazes back towards him. Waiting.

"I checked with Eric and Olivia, separately – discretely," Deanna voiced, hands soaking up the heat from her mug. The clear polish freshly applied on her long nails glinting in the candle-light as she laced her fingers together.

"Whoever it is, they haven't taken anything from the medical stores or the overflow in the pantry. Nothing to affect the well-being of the community in any way. That's good Sentinel behavior. Refusing to harm the community for the sake of themselves. Even if they are hurting. That means they aren't feral. They aren't too far gone. At least not yet."

He nodded shallowly, thinking hard. He could feel everyone's determination, hell even his own if he was being honest. Despite the risks. Despite the fact that there was a thousand and one ways this could end up in blood and tears. There really only seemed like there was one thing he could do.

"Alright, we'll try," he agreed, letting his head tilt just so as Glenn and Maggie visibly relaxed. Smiling lightly as Spencer brushed shoulders with his mother, lending support instinctively as she patted his hand gently.

"Still, the confrontation has to happen either way. And it isn't going to be pretty. Regardless of the way it goes down, it's going to come off as an ambush. Sentinels generally don't take too kindly to those, especially when they're sense-compromised. Doesn't matter what level or condition they might be in, they've made this place their territory. That's what we're up against," he shared, running a hand through his hair and down his chin. Feeling the tingling stretch as stubble burned down the back of his hand.

_Territorial spats amongst Sentinels were common._

_Especially amongst those who'd been displaced or were newly coming into their gifts._

_Almost as common as problems with Sentinels scrapping with each other over a Guide._

_Lord knows he'd dealt with the aftermath of enough of those on the job._

"That's why I am coming with you," Deanna replied firmly, speaking with the air of someone who'd been staring at a Royal House Flush since the first draw and was now ready to play it. Confident enough that it turned the heads of everyone in the room, almost guttering the candle outright as Abraham whistled in surprise. "Outside the wall."

Spencer looked up sharply, fear and refusal airing out immediately. Sour and heady.

" _Mom,_ no!"

But Deanna was ready for it.

"I may not be a Sentinel, but  _I am_  the leader of this community and the responsibility is mine," she stated, hands braced on the table in front of her as she looked at each of them in turn. Holding their gaze until they deferred before moving on to the next.

"These are my people. I know each and every one of them. I know their stories. Their dreams. I know what they have lost –  _who_. And if one of them is hurting, if one of them needs help. I want them to know I will do whatever is in my power to help them.  _That_  is what family does.  _That_ is what we are."

When her gaze fell on him he tasted the after-burn of stale electricity. Like the moment after the lightning strike as the veil around her thoughts parted and for the first time since he'd laid eyes on her,  _he knew._ It was as good as decided. And what was more, he believed she could do it. He believed the words and the inflection behind them.

That this was right.

It was the right play.

The best play.

_The good play._

"When do we leave?" she asked, eyes glittering. More alive then she'd looked since her husband had bled out in her arms. Host to the same spark that had been burning when she sat opposite him in that living room and read him like an open book.

"Two days," he rasped, covering the catch in his throat by taking a sip from his tea. "There was enough in that vial to get them through half a week, tops. He'll- _they'll_  stretch it out as long as they can before risking another dose. We will head out before sunrise and wait for them. They aren't expecting a welcome party, that's our advantage. They've been scot-free for over a year and they won't be at full strength. Still, we'll only have it once so it sure as hell better count."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> *Broken bond: Sentinels rarely survive the death of their Guide. But there are instances where the Sentinel can sometimes survive the death of a Guide, primarily if they are strong and that bond was not a true/fated one. But there is no guarantee. Sentinels have been known to perish even with their temporally assigned Guide. A Guide, however will survive a Sentinel's death unless it is their bonded or true Sentinel.
> 
> \- In the case of a true/fated bond, the surviving/non-injured party often dies outright. Unable to cope with the loss of the mental/emotional/romantic connection they shared. In less common cases, the surviving party will die slowly in agony and heartbreak until their body shuts down, unwilling to live without their bonded partner.


	3. Chapter 3

"What I don't get is how this guy- _person_  stayed hidden for so long," Glenn finally voiced, tugging at the frizzle of cotton that had collected on the thumb of his glove.

He breathed into his hands, hazing the air with opaque clouds of pearling fog – moisture laden and heavy. Fingertips stinging as they grazed the cool metal of his Colt. The sun was out, but the air was cold, like the dying slide of summer just before the leaves bowed to the oncoming fall. He scuffed the toe of his boots in the mossy turf, leaning up against the ring of trees they'd taken cover behind. A position that gave them a perfect view of the protected little inlet the Sentinel had been using, but far enough away to afford them a measure of cover – if they played their cards right.

"I mean for basically being, well,  _superheroes_ , Sentinels are actually pretty delicate. Especially without a Guide. Think about it. There are no white noise generators, no scentless soaps - body wash. No special foods or Sentinel friendly neighbourhoods," Glenn continued, ticking down the list with his fingers as Spencer and Deanna listened curiously, bundled in thick coats – colors muted, blending in with the line of trees they were using as cover. "Out here? In all this? Must be torture."

"Whoever it is, he's a tough bastard, that's for damned sure," Abraham agreed. Habitually double checking the magazine of his semi-auto. Dressed for war, dog tags glinting. Softening the image only marginally by keeping his chin hidden in the fur line collar of his jacket.

"What our Sentinel has or hasn't isn't something we can determine – at least not completely. Let's focus on what we _do_  know," Deanna responded crisply, rubbing her hands together. Clearly grateful for the distraction as her eyes darted from where he, Glenn and Abraham's hands were resting, hitched up on their sides, only a few inches from unbuckled holsters. Unsettled, but clearly resolved not to let it show.

"One of the most basic essentials for a heathy Sentinel – other than a Guide - are white noise generators. Unfortunately, having one here would be impossible. We would know. The power draw to keep even a small one running would be sizeable. Not to mention they're quite noticeable. Even if they are living alone, we're quartered too closely for something like that to stay secret for long," Deanna replied, thoughtful.

"The home-made… _solution_  they're using likely takes the edge off. But yes, whoever it is definitely has a strong constitution. But as for the rest, when I talked to Eric he confirmed that he and Aaron found a couple of boxes of Sentinel-friendly products early on. Scentless soaps, shampoos, lotion, slim-fiber underwear, tooth paste – shaving cream. Like the starters kits they give out when a new Sentinel presents," Deanna shared. "At the time Olivia was swamped with inventory and since there was no pressing need, it wasn't officially counted until about two weeks later."

"It's feasible that within that period they could have helped themselves to whatever they needed without anyone being any wiser – or worse off," she stated, eyes distant, as if remembering something. "At the time we were hoping the remains of the military convoy might find their way back to us, possibility with more survivors. A wounded Sentinel and Guide pair -  _something_. Aaron and Eric spent a good amount of time helping us amass a decent stock pile, but nothing ended up coming out of it."

"Since then, they've probably had to make other arrangements. If they leave the walls regularly, they've likely been able to find what they need. They certainly seem to have no problem finding the ingredients for whatever it is they're injecting themselves with," Deanna continued, gaining steam. "Luckily for them, from what I was told on-route to Alexandria, it was believed that every Sentinel within at least a five state area had perished at the front lines in their respective cities."

"With all the Sentinels gone there hasn't been much need for anyone to be looting those supplies. Especially not in any great number. In all honesty, I was afraid we'd lost too many - that the existing generation might have died out completely. At least on the East coast. Regardless of the shape this Sentinel is in, I am taking this as a good sign."

"Why, though," Spencer questioned quietly, breaking his silence for the first time since they'd stepped out of the safety of the walls. "Why hide?"

He kicked off from the tree he was leaning on, stamping his foot once, twice, to get the circulation going –  _past time to get some new boots,_   _probably_  - before he answered with a question of his own. "Why do people do anything?"

"Fear, most likely. Fear of being looked at different. Fear of being judged…pitied. Fear of being expected more of when they aren't at their best. Hell, to be honest, fear of probably what we're aiming to do right now - rooting them out and helping 'em handle thangs'," he offered, kicking at a bit of bark peeling off the base of the trunk.

"If they've lost their Guide, well, they could be going through any number of things. Taking each day as it comes, like the rest of us. Just getting by.  _Trying_. I'd imagine the future doesn't look so great from where they're standin', all things considered."

"Depending on how long they've been alone – how long they've been dosing - they're bound to be unbalanced, uncomfortable, desperate.  _In pain._  When all that comes together, thinking beyond one hour to the next is about as impossible as it gets. What they do? How? Their reactions? Why they think the way they do? It's more grounded in instinct than anything else.  _We_ are the ones that are disconnected from all this," he reminded, letting his free hand twirl around his head, as if to encompass the world at large. "At the end of the day, their reasons don't have to make sense to us. Just them."

"Been meaning to ask you about that," Abraham grunted, chin tipping up – firmly curious despite an expression that revealed nothing of the same. Breaking the silence with his usual 'cut out the bullshit and get right to the chase' way of doing things that it had him tensing on reflex.

"How do you know so much about all this? Bit above the pay-grade of a small town sheriff, don't you think? Hell, I was in the service – lived and worked with the crazy assholes – but the Tower takes care of their own business and that's the way they like it. Didn't think there was much overlap. Especially not in some podunk country station, if you get my meanin'," the red-head remarked, body language easing a bit as he leaned back against a fallen tree. Watching him expectantly, but clearly willing to let the line of questioning slide until they were alone if he started side-stepping.

He huffed out a breath of air – something that only few years ago could have been called a laugh - almost glad for the check. He'd gotten used to his people just taking him at face value lately. While he wasn't exactly chatty by nature, it felt almost freeing to offer up something of himself without looking like he was the driving force behind it. It wasn't about saving face. Not exactly. It was something else. Something in-between intimacy starved and the kind of trepidation that becomes second nature when you've been burned one too many times.

"They do, to a point," he returned, meeting Abraham's amused smirk with one of his own – sharing a moment. "You go through a few courses in the academy. For the sake of the PR circuit mostly. You know how that whole circus works. But no, you're right, the Tower kept to their own. The station liked to keep it that way, too. Sentinels and Guides are a lot of work to manage, especially when thangs' go south. …But on my end, well, it was more from observation. I  _worked_  with one."

That got their attention.

"Lambert Kendal. He was a low level Sentinel, came on the force about three years after me, just one sense activated. Taste. Tower didn't want much to do with him after he did his stint in the military, other than taxes and change of address forms. Lam was considered too weak a Sentinel for fawning over or classified ops. And frankly, that was the way he liked it. He wasn't one for politics or power trips. He was one of the good ones. He  _wanted_  to be a cop – wanted to make a difference," he shared catching his heel on a root and leaning back against the wide trunk behind him. Breathing in the smell of aging pine and moldering leaves as he tried and failed to recall the smell of the bull-pen. The stale zing of old coffee. Dryer lint. Sweat. He'd known it once. Seemed so long ago. But it seemed like something he shouldn't have let himself forget either.

He shook his head, letting the thought fade.

"And you know what they say about people with good karma? Well, figures he'd be one of the lucky ones too. He met his Guide out on a call first year in. Leon Basset," he continued, lips twitching into a brief half smile as he remembered getting the call over the radio from Lam's old partner.

The indignant, half-scandalized lilt that had been present in ol' Harper's voice had sent the entire bull-pen into flat out hysterics. He and Shane had been laughing too hard to hear the whole thing in its entirety – but he figured they'd got the gist of it when Harper had stomped back into the station half an hour later without the squad car. Grumbling about Sentinels and life in general, sporting a shiner just below his left eye and a sour look as he clomped into their supervisor's office and closed the door with a slam.

Apparently Sentinels do not take kindly to people attempting to arrest their newly discovered Guide for refusing to pay half a dozen unpaid parking tickets – regardless of if the charge had merit or not – and had acted accordingly. To say money hadn't changed hands around the office was an  _understatement_. Lam was about as refined as they came and was notorious for being peaceable, easy going to a fault. No one had ever seen him even so much as raise his voice before, so, naturally, there had been a healthy betting pot in play for when he'd finally snap.

In the end, they gave it a handful of hours before lo-jacking the car and tracking the happy couple out onto a back road that bordered the rear of the county. He and Shane managed to get them unstuck from each other long enough to drive them to the Sentinel's apartment. Wishing them happy bonding and an order from the super not to come back to work until Lam could think with his upstairs brain again.

He was pretty sure Lam did it on purpose, but Harper ended up having to decontaminate the entire squad car when Shane drove it back to the station. He'd bitched about it for months. Not at all shy about taking his partner to task for it when he'd finally come back to work – newly minted Guide in tow. Leon had turned a rather alarming shade of red when Harper cornered them by the coffee pot, whining about stained upholstery and questionable hand prints. But Lambert had just smiled serenely – zen and completely unfazed as he fussed around with Leon's coffee before steering them politely away again.

"Leon was an idiot. Young, careless and dumb – hell, the only reason he made it onto the force was because our super was gagging over having a Sentinel and Guide pairing at the station," he recalled, feeling the shiver that came with repeating the same words he'd said that day around the back of the building with Morgan and his son.

"But he balanced Lam out. Crazy as it was, they just worked. Never seen him happier to be honest, or talk so much then when Leon was with him. And when he and Lam were in the moment? There wasn't anything like it. It was like watching a dance – seamless - connected. It was like, I don't know…cutting oxygen. There were no ripples. Just miles of smooth air with nothing else in between," he explained, frowning when he couldn't quite put the feeling into words. Making him wonder if there was any right way to describe such a thing or if it was above all that – more than any smattering of words someone like him could fumble through.

"After me and Morgan raided the lock-up, I knew- the moment I saw Leon. Still in his uniform, all torn up and bloody on the other side of that fence. I knew that Lam was dead. That everyone I'd worked with was gone. There was no question. You just knew," he uttered, low but almost surprised by the tint of regret – _guilt_  – that rose thick with the words.

"Lambert would have never left the station undefended, not unless he could help it. That was his territory.  _Undisputed_. He tried to explain it to me once, I don't know if I rightly understood it in the end, but what I got out of it was that it was more than just a compulsion – more than just the need to defend and protect. It was deeper than that. It's like what they used to say on those shows.  _It's more of a calling_. But when he lost Leon, well, it was over. He wouldn't have been able to cope with that. They were too close. Too right."

"Shitty hand that got dealt is all," Abraham commented eventually, dropping his shoulders loosely, breaking the uncertain hush that had fallen over the others as Deanna looked up at him thoughtfully. "They weren't the only ones."

He nodded, hip cocked, directing his gaze back to the treeline. Automatically wishing that Daryl was with them as he scanned the backdrop. He and Aaron had been gone for a week already, scouting for potential additions farther west. They were due back by the weekend, too late to probably have a say in all this mess, but he couldn't stop himself from wishing all the same.

_Would Daryl have approached this differently?_

_Would he have chosen another spot?_

_Or would he have made the opposite call?_

He was shaken from his thoughts when Spencer sighed, plopping down on a fallen log with an unimpressed grunt that had both Glenn and Abraham shifting to follow. Making more than his fair share of noise as the rotten trunk creaked and cracked under the weight.

"Problem?" he asked, tone making Deanna squint in warning as her eldest just shook his head, fixing him with a frustrated look that made the hairs on the back of his neck flatten in understanding. Being a father, he made the comparison easily. Seeing a young cub, barely full grown, rumpled and alone - more irritated at itself than anything – flicker-flash through his mind's eye before expelling him back to the present.

"I'm just not sure what the point of all this is?" Spencer muttered. "He- _whoever,_  is going to hear us from miles away. See us. Smell us. Hell, I mean, against all that, how does this plan even stand a chance? If I was them, I'd be miles away by now."

"If this were under normal circumstances, you'd be right," he answered, hands resting on his hips. Letting the man get used to the idea that he was partially right before deciding to fill in the rest. "More likely they'd be able to tell what we had for _breakfast_  on top of where we are. How many guns we have between us. If we are stressed - dangerous. But right now this guy is dosing himself with a drug that doesn't just level out his senses, it  _blinds_ them."

"Think of it like someone that drinks to forget – an alcoholic with nothing to lose – he is drinking until he can hardly feel anything anymore. Now, whoever it is still has the basics, maybe a bit more, but what they'll have is stunted – unhealthy. It's not sustainable either, they've probably had to up the dose more than-"

To the east -  _close_ \- a stick cracked.

The sound made everyone's heads kick up.

Flavoring with the air with raw nerves and the bitterness of coddled adrenaline.

He brought his fist up with a brutal snap, stopping the conversation in its tracks as Glenn ad Abraham nodded, easing their guns out of their holsters as they hunkered down. Using the natural cover of the hollow to their advantage as they kept the secluded circlet of trees in their sights – waiting.

_This was it._

At first he thought it was a walker. All heavy footfalls. Staggering and unsteady.

And honestly, who could have blamed him?

The sun was at the creature's back. Silhouette stretched out in front of it.

Wavering as it leaned up against the bark of a tree, panting.

He counted the footsteps.

Fingers curling around the trigger of his Python as the figure -  _the man_  - came into view.

_Then the man turned._

Beside him, Deanna sucked in a shattered breath, electric and faintly betrayed before-

" _Tobin?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> *Lambert "Lam" Kendal: Fellow sheriff's deputy of the King Country Station alongside Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh pre-za. Implied work partner to Leon Basset. According to the twd wiki, Lambert served time in the U.S Military before becoming a cop. He was seen in the pilot with Leon Basset, Rick Grimes, and Shane Walsh and again in a flashback in season two: "Bloodletting." His status is missing/unknown, but likely presumed dead in an attempt to evacuate the town and/or aid FEMA/Military.
> 
> *Leon Basset: Fellow sheriff's deputy of the King Country Station alongside Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh pre-za. Implied work partner to Lambert Kendal. He was seen in the pilot with Lambert, Rick Grimes, and Shane Walsh and again in a flashback in season two: "Bloodletting." His reanimated corpse, still dressed in his uniform, was mercy killed by Rick Grimes through the fence in the pilot episode. Likely perished in the line of duty, attempting to evacuate the town and/or aid FEMA/Military.


	4. Chapter 4

He was eerily fascinated by the process as Tobin shuddered, one hand pressing against his temple. Pain etching itself across his expression like a chisel through granite as the man shoved himself through the small gap in the trees and into the secluded little hollow. Barely stopping long enough to sit down before shaking fingers were fumbling inside the folds of his pack as the Sentinel brought out at least half a dozen jars and vials and set to work.

The process would have been practiced – easy - if Tobin hadn't been as bad off as he was. And all they were getting were just the  _echoes_. The backwash of shared discomfort that coasted through him as every action, every pause, every twitch and grimace transmitted to the world just how much the man was suffering. It pulled at him.  _Pulled at all of them._  It was instinctive and coarse. Like the pity that comes part and parcel with watching a wounded animal flail and kick – its leg caught firm in a hunter's trap. Morbidly rapt before you shake yourself free of it and spring into action.

And while he'd never considered himself the most empathetic of people, he couldn't deny that the sheer sight didn't have his back up. Every time a vial slipped between his fingers. Every time the man shivered – muffling muted little grunts of pain into the forearm of his jacket - he had to stop himself from tossing everything to the wind and confront him right then and there. Willing to do just about anything to make it stop. Feeling gritty with it as the others shifted behind him.

_Guilty._

It wasn't until he seemed to have the mixture finished – littering the ground with mostly empty vials and plastic bottles of finely crushed pills - that Tobin half fell off the log he'd been sitting on. Movements jerky and ill-timed as he used the scoop of his hands to dig out a shallow pit – fumbling with his lighter once, twice, dropping it, then again before the tatter of dried moss and kindling finally caught fire.

The man's reaction to the soft flare up made him catch his lip between his teeth. Keeping his hand up – fisted and tight – to make sure the others held their ground as Tobin cried out. Shuddering through a strangled sob as he clutched his eyes and shuffled away.

_Christ, he had no idea the man was so bad off._

_He'd talked to Tobin just yesterday about shoring up a section of the wall._

_He'd given no sign._

_Nothing._

Tobin's chest heaved, keeping his head in his hands as he muttered inaudibly to himself, shoring himself visibly – inch by inch – until a ragged sort of calm slowly descended. A breathing exercise, right from one of the Tower's official handbooks. Tobin didn't move again for another five minutes, unsticking his lids slowly and making his way back - half-blind – to the fallen tree he'd been using as a chair.

The fire crackled – low but well fed as Tobin finally raised his head – eyes a livid blood-shot he could see even from the distance, before looking carefully around him. Head cocked like he was trying to make something out before his expression fell and he looked away. Surveying the remaining area quickly before turning back to the matter at hand.

It wasn't until he started filling a medical syringe with the opaque blue solution that Glenn and Deanna raised their eyebrows significantly at him. The question there was silent, but no less vocal.

_Now?_

He shook his head, making a quick decision. The man was too unstable to approach right now. Too volatile. He was barely holding it together as it was. Any interference from them before the Sentinel had calmed down a fraction was only going to make the situation worse. As much as he hated to admit it, they needed him docile. The drug would do that for them. They'd have to worry about the consequences later.

He considered looking away when Tobin shrugged awkwardly out of his jacket. Rolling up the sleeve of his plaid shirt to his elbow – taking a ragged looking Sentinel-friendly under layer with it, often used for Sentinels who were sensitive to touch – to reveal an irritated span of track-marked skin and paling veins.

Just off to his right, Glenn muffled a curse.

_Christ, no one deserved this._

He felt the firm of his teeth pull at cracked lips. Tongue flirting with the acrid tang that started seeping from one of the splits as he forced himself to keep on looking. The cop in him quickly added everything up. Comparing text-book stats to personal experience. Judging by the damage, just on that arm alone, that Tobin had been using for a long time.

It occurred to him gradually, more than anything he'd experienced in his life so far, that  _this_  was what desperation looked like. It was the tremor in Tobin's fingers. The sweat trickling down from his temples. The unstable downturn of his lips on a mouth he'd rarely heard an ill word from. It was looking into the face of someone you knew and seeing, well, a  _void_.

Worst of all, it felt worrisomely familiar. Like once upon a time he'd been exactly where the man was standing, maybe not in the same circumstances but it was the same feeling. The same stench of over-stretched sanity. The same looming realization that there was no way out of the hole he'd managed to dig for himself - too busy trying to ignore what the world was trying to tell him. Only in this case, Tobin was as close to blameless as you could get, and he was suffering silently anyway.

_He hadn't come to Deanna for help – Pete - anyone._

_He hadn't let on that anything was wrong, not once._

_He had to have sensed the presence of the two Guides within the walls, the ones Deanna had mentioned._

_Even if he'd been drugged up to the gills the entire time, he would have felt their pull._

_Why hadn't he gone to them for comfort?_

_What he was going through was downright inhumane._

_Jesus, why hadn't the man just said something?_

_Why-_

He shook his head. The heel of his boot grinding itself deep into the loamy soil. Hating himself for drawing it out as Tobin pinched the pink on his ruined forearm. Skin glowing - an angry wounded red - raised like welts between the marks of old injections and dying veins.

But he had to be sure.

 _They_ had to be sure.


	5. Chapter 5

His fingers twitched across the trigger of his Python when Tobin pressed the plunger down. Injecting himself with an almost clinical carelessness – like once upon a time he'd gone into this  _without_  the intention to wound. Letting go of a baser grunt when the needle sank home.

There was no ceremony to it. Just a gradual release of tension that started in the shoulders and shivered its way down the Sentinel's spine. Almost like every inch of him – from sinew to bone – took a careful stretch.

The empty needle rolled freely out of Tobin's open palm, giving in to gravity as it caught on a pant leg,  _clink-clinking_  to a stop somewhere along the forest floor at his feet. But the Sentinel didn't seem to notice. It was like in that brief moment of relief, nothing else existed. Allowing him to float blissfully in a haze of welcoming static as the world hushed to a stop and took all the stimuli with it.

He sensed more than saw Deanna avert her eyes when Tobin let out a low groan. Hips rocking lazily – once, twice, then again – as his body tried to make sense of it. Pain receptors flooded with conflicting signals as they scrambled to send pleasure thrumming through the man's nervous system in its absence.

His insides clenched in discomfort. Fighting with something he didn't quite understand as the man went lax against the tree. Head tipping back against the bark, blue eyes half-lidded and glazed.

It wasn't right.

_This wasn't right._

He knew that much was obvious, but this was  _more_  than that. This was self-destruction in slow motion. It was a last-ditch effort at normalcy that had spiraled out of control. Hampered by a Sentinel's inherently stubborn nature. There was a reason Sentinels were prized in the military. They never gave up. Even when they had every right to. They were  _supposed_  to be the last ones standing.  _The protectors_. It wasn't in them to back down or surrender. Not unless they'd lost their Guide and even then, nature generally took care of that part for them.

_But this?_

_What Tobin was doing to himself?_

_It was one of nature's cruelest ironies and they were bearing witness to it in the flesh._

He caught Abraham's stare over the heads of the others – suddenly angry. Sharing something unspoken as Tobin melted further into the tree at his back. Limbs twitching fitfully as his chest rose and fell – strong but slow - like each pull of oxygen was a treat worthy of being savored.

How many Sentinels had been brought down to this? He'd known about the Guide shortage. Hell, everyone knew. It'd been like that since before he'd been born. But this? This was inhuman. A Sentinel was supposed to be cherished. To be cared for by those it protected just as fiercely. Human, Sentinel, Guide. It was a three-pronged partnership that had existed since the beginning. Only they'd failed somehow. The world had ended and they'd let themselves slide down with it. Forgetting how interconnected the Sentinels were to the natural order.

_The world was dying – or maybe just changing – but how blind did they have to be not to think it wouldn't affect those who existed to balance it?_

He shook himself, hackles raised. Feeling the uncommon urge to just haul back and punch something as Glenn ran a dirty hand through his hair. Blowing out a pent up breath in increments. Watching Tobin in the same way as he and Abraham were. Self-criminating and frustrated.

How many were just hanging on – barely there? Pinned down by some half-understood, genetic predisposition that insisted they keep putting one foot in front of the other. That refused to let them quit, even when every inch of them had already learned how to scream without sound?

The fact that Tobin was even still around -  _still trying_  – was, well-

"This has to end," Deanna murmured, emphatic. Voice whisper-soft despite the fact that Tobin was still fully in the grip of it, coasting high and vulnerable. "It's time to solve this. He's suffered enough."

The nod was shared between all five of them, unspoken and steady in its determination as Spencer joined in – pale behind a faded swathe of freckles. But that was about as far as they got, ripped out of the moment before they could act as the sound of growls and snapping underbrush issued through the muted calm.

_Walkers!_

And they weren't the only ones to notice. Because from one moment to the next Tobin was gliding effortlessly to his feet, alert and scanning the area as the Sentinel quickly pinpointed the threat and straightened – every muscle still, nearly vibrating with repressed energy as he knelt down and pulled two matching machetes out of his pack and stepped purposely out of the hollow.

"What are you doing, Rick?" Deanna hissed. One hand on his shoulder, eyes flashing when he stopped the others from moving forward to help. Reining them in with yet another closed fist as the line of Tobin's shoulders settled – poised like a great cat about to strike - as at least a dozen walkers closed around him in a loose semi-circle. Boney hands blood-smeared and grasping as they shambled forward.

"Just wait," he cautioned, hip cocked against the trunk of the tree he was using for cover. Gut telling him to stay put. " _Wait._ "

He'd heard a lot about watching a full-fledged Sentinel in action. How everything melted away when they were in their element, protective and fierce. All smooth grace and ruthless blood-soaked beauty. But Tobin wasn't any of those things.

It  _could_  have been beautiful.

The under currents were all there.

In another time and place it  _could_ have been something to savor.

Something to pass down from one generation to the next.

But not here.

Not now.

_Not today._

Instead, Tobin fought like he was  _suffocating_. Like he was dying slowly – inch by inch – like his body was still reserving the right to figure out if it was going to be permanent or not. It was a more of a last stand than anything. A frenetic slashing of blows and cutting slices that severed heads from shoulders, hacking and whirling as the Sentinel snarled wordlessly.

He could almost feel the echoes of the power the Sentinel had once commanded as his presence rippled outwards. Baring his teeth at his prey as a baser growl issued from deep in Tobin's throat. There was pride there,  _oh yes_ , down-trodden and barely lit, but it was there. Dusty and nearly forgotten, now clearing the way for the rest to come pouring through the drug-addled haze. Aggression, surety, anger, rage, even a savage sort of joy. Caught in the moment where instinct took over as the Sentinel laid waste to those that dared to invade its territory. Those who dared to approach him - approach his town and harm those he'd silently pledged to protect.

It  _should_  have been beautiful. Seeing all those deeply laden guardian instincts bursting clean through the blanketing drug. But in the end, it was like watching a fist fight where there should have been a dance. Even from this vantage point it was clear that Tobin was over estimating every time he swung – off balance. Disconnected by the drugs, the frayed control he had over his senses or maybe something that was closer to somewhere in the middle. Throwing his entire body into every other swing, until one of the machetes got caught, snagging on a knot of rotting gristle and bone before he yanked it free and twisted. Lashing out at the final two who were shambling in from behind at the last moment – growling and loose-jawed.

A measure of awe and respect rippled through him when he realized it was over. Watching Tobin - blood drenched and breathing hard – as he stood in the middle of a mowed down tangle of shorn limbs and hacked up corpses. Blinking like a child who'd looked into the sun as he turned in a slow circle, wide-eyed and wounded.

A staggered line of thick, coagulated gore drizzled off the points of Tobin's twinned blades. Highlighting what had transpired with uneven patterns of rotting-red as he and Abraham shared a significant look. Mirroring each other's thoughts. Strange to think that such a soft spoken man – who hadn't raised his voice to anyone – gentle and honest in all respects, like a walking stereotype with his big frame, could be capable of such a thing.

A muscle in his cheek twitched with exasperated frustration.  _Sentinels._

No wonder he'd remained hidden for so long. He wasn't just clever and controlled, he was an enigma. He wasn't like the others – like Atlanta's alpha pair whose very presence had commanded instant respect. An almost visceral frisson of power and control. He was a gifted Sentinel, three – maybe four senses active – but lacking all the outward aggression. He was calm. Like Lam had been. Gentle, unassuming -  _camouflaged_. He'd always thought Lam's placidity was due to only having one sense active. Now he wasn't so sure. The media always pushed the idea that the Sentinel's instinctual roots was a precursor for their thoughts and actions and made excuses for them accordingly, but now?

He supposed it fit, in an ironic sort of way. Raising a brow to answer Abraham's non-committal shrug. Eying the man closely as he realized that despite his almost text-book standard appearance, Tobin was proof enough that the packaging didn't always match up with what was inside. Or visa-versa, now that he thought about it.

_Still, this proved it._

_This was what they'd been hoping to find._

_Some sign that the Sentinel wasn't too far gone._

_That there was more than just the drug keeping him fed._

The twisted knot in his gut settled fractionally, giving him leave to start thinking about that overdue confrontation. It was past time. The drug should have leveled him out by now, giving the man something his shattered control could cling to. He was about to start forward, course decided, when the machetes dropped from Tobin's nerveless fingers. The sound was jarring. Making the Sentinel wince as his hands jerked up to cover his ears - wide palms accidentally smearing a spray of red across his cheeks. Looking like he was about to either vomit or-

He didn't get to finish the thought before Tobin suddenly hauled back and slammed his fist into a trunk. Letting go of a splintered, flat-lining cry that lingered in the air far longer than it should have. Lilting like the razor-sharp of exhaustion and despair before the Sentinel crumpled, staggering back toward the puny little fire and collapsing on the fallen log. Strangling a sob into a hiccup as he folded himself almost in half, head buried in his arms – body trembling, struggling to mute the sounds as Tobin's spine curved. Breathing heavily in the aftermath as the surrounding hum of the forest did remarkably little to mask the signs of an oncoming panic attack.

Deanna made a soft sound beside him, shocking him still as a single tear made tracks down her cheek. Watching the sobbing man with an expression that made every muscle he had clench in sympathy. Utterly blinded by the realization that before all this he'd been ready to just put the man down. Taking him out like most people did with any other wounded animal, figuring the risks wouldn't be worth the return, Sentinel or not.

_Christ._

But he was torn out of his self-criminating thoughts only a few seconds later. Caught off guard when Tobin stirred unexpectedly. He could almost feel the beats between the breaths as Tobin slowly straightened. He had his back to them this time. Staring off into nothing. Body language vacant and almost eerily chilled. Clear enough that they didn't need to hear the echoes of the whisper that left his lips – teasing absently through the air, soft, but somehow managing to travel all the same – to understand what he meant by it.

"I can't do this anymore..."

His hackles went up. Immediately on point as something in the Sentinel's tone sounded off alarm bells inside his head. This was wrong. Something was wrong. Something more than they were seeing. Something-

He met Abraham's gaze as the man nodded. Nudging Glenn and Spencer into motion as Deanna took a step back, picking up on the silent communication as they half rose from their position against the natural bank of soil. Wincing as careful boot heels sunk deep into the mouldering undergrowth.

Then Tobin reached down. Pushing aside the flaps of his pack to pull out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Holding it delicately in a meaty paw as the covers fell away to reveal another syringe. This one filled to the brim with vibrant,  _poisonous_  royal blue.

And just like that, all the air seemed to get sucked out of his lungs


	6. Chapter 6

They were so focused on the syringe. On what it _meant_  as Tobin stared down at it – hesitating - clearly struggling with the idea as he turned it over and over in his hands. That none of them noticed the walker until it was practically on top of them.

They recoiled, weapons up. But the thing just crossed through the foliage a handful of yards to their right without seeing them. Broken leg dragging behind it as it limped slowly down the bank, scenting the air eagerly. Milky eyes trying to locate the source of the smell –  _their smell_  – before fastening on the blind of Tobin's back with an eager snarl.

The moment moved beyond tension and right into a morbid sort of panic when the walker growled, meal spotted. The shards of the broken bone poked sickeningly out of taut grey flesh, grating together in tandem as it limped along. Filthy hands kneading at the empty air as Deanna's hand tugged at his elbow.

And for good reason.

Because Tobin didn't even look up.

In fact, the distracted Sentinel gave no sign he'd heard the walker at all as the shambling thing tripped on one of the downed walkers circled around the hollow. Tangled red hair sheathed in front of its face, wedding ring glinting, missing the center stone on an equally brittle finger. Dead nails peeled off as it scrabbled, digging deep as it pulled itself upright and staggered forward. So close its shadow was falling over him, inches away from-

Tobin didn't even  _react_. It was like he was just  _gone_  – absent inside his own skin. Hyper-focused or maybe even zoned on the syringe in his hand as the walker hissed.

His stomach lurched. _Zoned_. It was a dangerous thing for any Sentinel, even at the best of times. But here? Now? The grip of his Colt Python was strangely warm in his palm, the stained wooden stock slippery with the sweat beading down his wrist as he leaned out from the branches draped over the bank. The same ones hiding them from view as he tried to line up the shot. He gritted his teeth, he couldn't-

The walker dropped.

_Just dropped._

From one moment to the next. It'd been moving, half a second from sinking its teeth into the tanned swath of skin below the man's collar, then- _nothing_. It crumpled into itself before any of them could register the flashing blur of the hastily thrown knife that brought it down for good. Embedding itself in the walker's skull like a last chance as Tobin jerked, sending the syringe tumbling, lancing to his feet with a muted cry.

_Who in the hell-_

Glenn yanked him back just in time, saving them from being discovered when Nicholas – of all people - limped out of the tree-line on the other side of the clearing.

"Alright, Tobin?" the man asked, leaning heavily on a walking stick as he kicked the body over and retrieved his knife. Pulling it free with a liquidly squelch before wiping it clean and returning it to the sheath on his belt.

Tobin just blinked, eyes huge and childlike as he took in the smaller man from head to toe. Looking at him like he'd never seen anything quite like him until the moment lengthened then broke and the Sentinel shook himself – dazed and uncertain.

"Fine," he replied, unconsciously morose as the word took a side-winder into the ironic. The Sentinel sank back down on the mouldering log, blood-splattered and tired as Nicholas followed suit, easing himself down on the stump opposite with a grunt. Broken leg still unwieldy in its cast.

Glenn let out a hiss of air between his teeth – angry and chafing as his fingers clenched around his elbow. Dark hair falling in front of his face as they watched Nicholas reach forward. Fixing Tobin with an inscrutable look as he brushed away the fine covering of leaves and retrieved the half-forgotten syringe. The smaller man angled it so the viscous liquid glinted, seeming to swallow the light as the royal blue tinted dark in the afternoon sun. Face impassive and strangely uncurious in a way that immediately made him wonder how long they'd had an audience.

"What the hell is  _he_  doing here?"

"Easy," he murmured, sticking with cautious for the time being as he motioned for Abraham and Spencer to stand down. Keeping a careful hand on the firm of Glenn's chest as the man twitched violently. "Let's see what he does."

He cocked his head. Watching Nicholas watch Tobin. Getting the immediate impression that there was something they were missing as Tobin kept his eyes firmly on the ground in front of him. Refusing to answer the silent challenge that'd aired out the moment Nicholas had started threading that syringe through his fingers – content to wait it out as Deanna shifted impatiently behind him.

_Did Nicolas know they were there?_

It was impossible to tell.

They hadn't even heard him approach. Tobin hadn't. No one had.

Hell, the man could have been there from the beginning and they had no way of-

_Oh, but they did._

It was all there in the details. The smaller man's shirt – green stripes on a tan background – was dark with sweat. Expression pain-pinched in the corners. All precursors that hinted to a fast advance. Like he'd hurried here.  _Like he'd known._

"How long have you been following me?" Tobin finally asked, breaking silently as he clasped his hands together, clenched tight to hide the way they were trembling as Nicholas watched without comment. Expression tight but strangely determined as the syringe continued weaving its way between his fingers – hypnotic in the most basic sense of the word.

"Long enough to know how deep the hole you've dug for yourself is," Nicholas replied, not exactly quick on the mark, but definitely rehearsed. Like for reasons beyond his understanding the man had practiced this conversation more than once in front of a mirror. Hammering down all the variables. All the ways it could go – or go wrong – only to ruin the surety of it with a sigh.

"Tobin what is this shit? This isn't just a lethal dose, its suicide," he confronted, voice soft, but tone razor-sharp as he ran a hand through his sweaty curls. Lip curling as he looked down at the syringe with a sneer.

"It's not! It's-" the Sentinel twitched, momentarily affronted, like the very word went against his entire nature before his posture slumped – defeated. "It isn't enough anymore, what I've been taking. I thought-"

"You thought what? You'd just take the easy way out, that it?" Nicholas demanded, sounding strangely angry. Like this was somehow personal. Getting his hackles up over something he couldn't possibly understand.

He spared a look over his shoulder to glance at the others in turn, questioning, only to come up empty on the other side.  _What were they missing?_

Nicholas brew out a breath. "Well, you ain't wrong.  _Look at you_. You're already coming down. Your senses should be flat-lined. Blanketed. No wonder you're itching for the undiluted shit. Explains why you look like death warmed up, anyway. Unless-"

The pause made even Tobin look up, watching wearily as Nicholas fixed him with an assessing look. Frowning and perhaps even a bit awed. Like something had only just occurred to him and suddenly he was forced to re-evaluate whatever it was he wasn't sharing in far less time than he'd like.

"What level?" Nicholas asked.

"I don't-"

" _What level?_ " Nicholas repeated, bordering on snappish in a way that made the ghost of Tobin's forgotten pride visibly prickle. Tipping his chin up, mulish, before the severity of his current reality hushed back in.

"Five…" Tobin admitted, choking on a manic sort of laugh that came out wrenching. More like a sob than anything. "I tested at level five, alright? Off the charts. All senses active - high to extreme."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> *As mentioned in previous chapters there are different levels of Sentinels. Ranging on a scale from 1-5 in terms of the five senses. Lambert Kendal was a level 1 Sentinel, meaning he had only sense active, and it is implied it wasn't strong enough to be of much interest to the Tower authorities. Whereas, Atlanta's Alpha bonded pair were considered a level 5 pairing and extremely powerful.
> 
> \- In Tobin's case, making him a level 5 Sentinel means he is the highest level Sentinel there is, with all five senses not only active, but acute. Meaning that despite his abilities, he is at high risk for a zone-out and everyday life would be quite torturous without the presence of a Guide – specifically his bonded/true Guide. Considering his gifts it is possible he could be an Alpha Sentinel (ie: the most powerful in any given area) but due to his unbonded state he is more of a liability than an asset as his senses are unstable and dangerously unchecked at the current moment.


	7. Chapter 7

_A level 5 Sentinel? Here? Without a Guide? That wasn't possible. There was no way a Sentinel that powerful could have made it this far on just the drug. He'd never heard of anything like it. Hell, everything he knew about Sentinels told him it was impossible. Level 5's were rare enough, but without a Guide? That had to be about the closest thing to torture a person could get without being strapped to a rack._

He closed his eyes, ignoring the sparking black, only to have them pop back open less than a second later when Nicholas let out a muted streak of half-audible curses.

"For Christ sakes, you don't do anything in halves, do you?" the smaller man remarked ruefully. "Detoxing from this shit is gonna be a bitch." he added mildly, casually, like they were talking about nothing more important than the god damned weather. Not even batting a lash when Tobin reared up with an instinctive negative.

"I'm not detoxing! I can't. I hate it but I can't. You don't know what it's like, living like this, and I just- I can't. Not anymore," Tobin grated, hands ghosting across his temples like by sheer force of will he could stave off an incoming headache.

The silence that followed was intolerable. Highlighting the way the Sentinel seemed to shrink - if that was even possible - like the weight of his own shoulders was suffocating him in inches. He looked to the side only to find Glenn and Deanna similarly rapt, watching the story unfold like it was a movie. Spellbound by the latest twist despite that sinking feeling deep in the pit of your stomach that is trying to tell you that you probably won't like where it leads.

"So dosing yourself into a coma is preferable?" Nicholas slated, refusing to back down. Eyes hard. "There is enough in this to blind an _elephant_ , Tobin!"

"It stopped working. What I was able to mix, I mean. This barely takes the edge off," Tobin returned, indicating to the empty syringe at his feet. "It's not enough, never been enough, but I've been able to make it work...till now."

The Sentinel's eyes flicked to the syringe in Nicholas' palm. All but vibrating with unkempt discomfort and self-loathing. Hating it as much as he needed it.

"It worked before. The pure stuff. When everything went to hell, I had two of them with me," Tobin explained, gesturing at the syringe. "From the pharmacy. A last resort sort of thing. Doctors' orders after my Guide- after she-"

"I was caught on the free-way trying to evacuate from D.C. The Tower was supposed to send an escort, said they were bringing a temporary Guide. That it was an emergency Sentinel recall and I was as good as drafted. But they never made it. I tried to make it to a check-point, figured someone could get me where I was supposed to be going. But I didn't even get close," the man said softly, rubbing his face with sweaty palms. Looking pale and almost sickly – as if everything that'd happened up until this point had finally taken its toll.

"There were explosions, crashing cars, roamers chasing crowds of people. Burning buildings. Screaming. Blood. Noise.  _God, I was_ \- I zoned. Right there in the middle of the god damned road, half out of my truck, tangled up in the seatbelt," Tobin remarked with a shudder.

"No idea how I got so lucky, but there was this kid, fifteen maybe, chunk torn out of his arm. Must have seen it in the bag on the passenger side, because he injected me with it. Called it a Sentinel Epi-pen. Said his mom was one. Then a semi crashed through the traffic snarl, clearing the way and god, we just-we just  _gunned_ it."

"We made it out of the suburbs, barely. It was before we knew about the bites. I thought he was asleep – sick or something. But he turned in the back seat and we- I crashed. There wasn't time to grab anything else but that. I thought that maybe it would help, center me like it did back then. I was…free, for the first time. And it lasted for weeks. No zoning. No hyper-senses. I could sleep. Eat.  _Be normal_ ," Tobin trailed off, sober and drained. Voice host to such an honest longing that it suddenly made all his boyish hopes and dreams look like one memory shy of a tragedy. Childish and stupid under the unforgiving reality that an unbonded Sentinel faced every day.

"I want that," Tobin whispered brokenly, staring into the fire when meeting the smaller man's eyes became too much. "I want to feel what that is like, even if it's just one more time."

The end of the walking stick twitched, taped up knob creaking under the force of Nicholas' clenched fist. Blue eyes flashing despite his guarded expression. To anyone else it might have looked like hatred – disgust. But by now he was certain it wasn't that simple. This was Nicholas' play, and for some reason he didn't think the man had come all this way just to rub the Sentinel's face in it.

"Your Guide?" Nicholas prompted, gentler this time.

"Cancer," Tobin accounted flatly, dead and tired in a way that made something in him ache. Throbbing in a dusty little corner he'd neither noticed nor cared much to examine before now. Bleeding second hand sympathy like a weeping wound. And he wasn't alone. The others weren't immune to it either. Like him they were shifting, living and breathing expressions of distress the longer it dragged on. It was the instinctual reaction to a person in pain magnified by a thousand because it involved a Sentinel - something connected to the earth in a way they could neither see nor understand, but felt in the heart of them nonetheless.

"Tell me," Nicholas demanded, raw and hinging on desperate. Like everything before this point had just been filler and now it was the world being balanced on a knife's edge.

But if Tobin noticed the change in tone, he gave no sign. Because instead of asking him why he cared. Telling him to go to hell or any number of things that would have fit the moment, Tobin just nodded. Dull, blank and unsurprised as he watched Nicholas twirl the syringe around and around in his hand.

"Tell me about her."

Tobin let go of a shaky breath, steadying but tilted on its foundations.

Like a house hinging over a precipice, unmoving but still at risk for a fatal fall.

"Selima. She-she was everything…and nothing. She wasn't mine," Tobin breathed, admitting it like letting go of the words themselves were akin to a physical blow. "We spent months in that damn hospital. I stayed every night she let me. Damn near lost my job at the plant. But I didn't care. There was this small insidious thing taking her away from me in inches and I couldn't do anything to stop it. If I had been her Sentinel – her  _real_  Sentinel – I would have sensed it. I would have known what was happening before it was too late. I should have-"

The line of Tobin's back was taut. A thousand shades of angry and defeated as self-disgust rolled from him in waves. But as much as the words seemed to pain him, it appeared as though, now that he'd started, he couldn't help but continue. Exorcising himself of months – maybe even  _years_  – of pent up aggression and guilt as Nicholas merely sat and took it, eyes sharp. Drinking in every word, every pause. Expression stern but strangely hungry.

"She was the most important person in my life, but not the person I needed.  _Not the Guide I needed_ ," Tobin amended. "She was- our bond wasn't strong. But we made it work. We had to."

He watched Tobin's head cock – a marginal tilt to the left – when Nicholas chuffed deep in his throat. Arms crossing as he fixed the Sentinel with a look not that different from the ones he used to give Carl when he'd been younger - trying to sneak in a few more minutes of playtime before bed.

"Thought the Tower didn't allow untrue bonds for their favorite pets," Nicholas remarked bitingly. Attention keen, like any second he expected to catch the man in a lie.

The answer came swiftly as the two men seemed to share an assessing gaze. Communicating silently as something in Tobin's body language changed. It was imperceptible – minuscule – but there nonetheless. A subtle awareness that hadn't been there before. Like the Sentinel was reassessing the situation and the man in front of him. Trying to puzzle out the situation, just like they were, as Nicholas pressed the advantage.

"They don't," Tobin replied bluntly. "But even the Tower can't forcibly break a union, not anymore anyway. It doesn't matter what kind of bond it is – true or just surface. By the time they figured out what'd happened there was nothin' they could do."

"I presented early. Probably too early. I was still in high school. I was at football practice. A car-backstarted five blocks away and I zoned in the middle of a pass. By the time they got me to the Tower I was almost catatonic. Took a group of level-four Guides almost twelve hours to bring me back," the Sentinel explained, reeking with self-satisfied rebellion that seemed odd coming from someone so mild-mannered.

"They told me I was the most powerful Sentinel they'd seen in years. And that if they hadn't gotten to me when they did, I'd probably be a vegetable. Senses permanently overloaded – damaged. And they weren't kidding. I had a headache for weeks. Even with all their toys, the white noise generators and static rooms, I was miserable. Couldn't even wear clothes. My levels were all over the place, even with the temporary Guides they locked me in with."

The man's voice was rueful. Losing its detached blandness long enough to laugh at himself as he ran a hand through his hair. Color strangely improved as Nicholas twitched from his place on the stump. Looking like he wanted to inch closer, but didn't quite dare.

"My folks were so proud, you know? Everyone was. But the truth was, it wasn't what I thought it'd be. It wasn't like they made it sound. Like some stupid blessing – a 'calling' – a gift," Tobin recited with a snort, palms clapping against the tops of his jeans with a resounding smack before wincing in regret.

"It was like, the entire world had suddenly become poisonous - hostile. My favorite foods? I couldn't stomach them. Noise of any kind? I'd nearly pass out. Touch? I'd zone immediately. Sometimes even if it is was a Guide," Tobin remarked with a sigh, tugging at the collar of his shirt like he was remembering a phantom itch. "They took me out of school, put me in an accelerated program that had me graduating three months later. Honestly, I didn't get much time to get used to the idea before they started their tests and tried to match me up with a Guide. Told me I was prime Black Ops material. Tested high enough that one of the Generals came to see me personally, recruited me basically. I was sixteen, dumber than a pile of rocks and I just rolled with it. Stupid."

"I don't remember everything, but I know they exhausted the list of potential Guides – the ones that tested high enough on the spectrum to match me – within four months," Tobin continued, meeting Nicholas's eyes head on. "You were right, they wanted to match me with my bonded.  _My true Guide_. But they couldn't find them. Moved bureaucratic mountains trying to make it happen. And still, nothing."

"I couldn't be field tested or trained until I was paired, so they amped up their Guide-finding campaigns. Trying to tempt more potentials in the D.C area to come out of the closet, I guess," the Sentinel continued, shaking his head. "Thing was, they knew if I had presented, my Guide  _was_  out there. I mean, I know that finding your bonded is rare, especially in the wild, but the thing they don't tell people is that level fours and fives only present if their Guide is out there somewhere. Guess they figured it was only a matter of time before they found mine."

The Sentinel's smile was a tapestry of penitent regret. Laced tight with the type of knowledge that only comes with experience. Ignoring the dirge that mourned the death of childish ideology in favor of warming the bed for a future that'd spanned out, heavy and dragging with the weight of what could have been.

Nicholas just looked like he'd stopped breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference:
> 
> *Selima: a girl's name of Hebrew origins, meaning: "brings comfort and peace."


	8. Chapter 8

"I was eighteen and still living in the Tower when they took me overseas. Israel," the man shared, clearing he throat after a stuttering pause, expression tightening, steeling himself even as he kept going – pushing through as one word followed another.

"I met her at one of those Sentinel and Guide mixers the Tower puts on, but with a wider net. They brought a bunch of both – all levels – and had us schmooze with the locals. The Israelis did the same. I think they were hoping to improve relations and solve some mutual problems. They had a bunch of high level, unbonded guides in their Mossad ranks and we had more than a few Sentinels of the same caliber. Made sense to see if something would come together."

"She was a bit older. A school teacher. She was a solid level three with glasses, dark curls and soft curves. Beautiful, of course. Any Sentinel, hell, any _person_  would have been lucky to have her," Tobin shared.

"She smelled good, still and relaxed. Like the supporting beam that holds a house together. That was what I noticed first. After months of any scent jarring me up, it was, well…relief. She was calming just to breathe in. There were stronger Guides there, better fits - even if it was a temporary until I found my bonded - but for some reason she just… _pinged_."

Off to the side Nicholas' expression twitched. A flurry of emotions passing across his face, too fast for any of them to catch, before it blanked itself. Nodding for Tobin to continue when the man blew out a calming breath - shuddery and uneven.

"Thing was, I knew the moment I walked into that room that my Guide wasn't there," the Sentinel stated, shaking his head, eyes sad. "We clicked, but not in the way that mattered. I got her a drink, lingered longer than I probably should have and moved on. "

"I didn't know until later, but turns out I was the strongest Sentinel in the room. So maybe that was why I could sense it. Why no one else reacted to it. But about halfway through the evening, a new group of Sentinels crashed the party – mostly the kids of the higher ups. But the moment they stepped into the room her fear smell –  _god_  – it made me nauseous."

"It was like a neon-sign flashing underneath her skin and I was the only one cluing in," Tobin recalled shakily, nudging at the empty syringe by his feet before leaning down and picking it up, brushing off the leaves like he needed time to collect his thoughts. "They say fear stinks. And hell if they weren't kidding. Selima- well, she was so frightened, the air was thick with it."

"I knew there were people watching, so I made my way back over with another drink and gave it to her. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, hell I was just a kid, but the  _Sentinel_ knew," Tobin affirmed, pressing his hand against the center of his chest as if to give credit to a summation of parts neither of them could see.

"I gave her my jacket, covering her scent and gradually moved her away from the crowd. She lifted a pack of cigarettes off a doorman and I waved us past security with the excuse that I was accompanying her out for a smoke. It wasn't until we made it out onto the street that she nearly folded. I had to scoop her up. She was shaking, crying. I got her to a bench and tucked her into my chest. Trying to calm her," Tobin remembered, mouth twisting like every word was something foul. Something he'd spent decades trying to forget.

"That was when I knew. That was when I smelled it. It wasn't nerves. It was another Sentinel.  _Her Sentinel._ The daughter of some high ranking General in the Mossad. Selima had sensed her – the moment she came in. The Sentinel was probably feeling some of it to – but not as strong. Sure enough, when I went back inside to get my things I caught sight of her scenting the air, trying to figure out where it was coming from."

"Selima had found her bonded, but her Sentinel was- _wrong_. Dangerous. Even I could tell there was something off about her. She was perfect, on the outside. Shining black hair, honey-tanned, successful, but she smelled  _burnt_. Hollow. Like an electrical fire – acidic, explosive, poisonous. Made my nose itch. Like someone was singeing the hairs the longer I had to be in the same room as her."

"Whatever Selima could sense about her Sentinel terrified her enough to reject the beginning of a proximity bond flat-out. I didn't even know that was possible. For someone to resist going to their soul-bonded, but she did. She took me deep into the districts, where it was safe, and we talked through the night, made a deal. I told her how hard it was, living day to day, trapped in the Tower. She told me how now that her Sentinel had sensed her presence, she would be hunted down and forced into the bond," Tobin said, voice pitching slightly as he wiped at a spray of blood still freckled across the soft of his throat.

"We were two people with shit luck and at the time there only seemed to be one thing we  _could_  do. We forged a shallow-bond on her mother's couch and walked back to my Hotel the next morning, hand in hand," the Sentinel laughed, looking young for a handful of beats as he looked off over Nicholas' head – remembering.

"By the time the bond-inspector got his hands on us, it was too late to break it. It ended up killing my career in the forces, but in the end it worked out. She got to keep her freedom. We both got our lives back. And I got to keep my conscience. Seemed like a fair trade, all things considered. Still does, in fact, no matter how it turned out."

"She came back to the States with me. Just like that. Left it all behind. We found out later that the Sentinel was responsible for a string of mysterious Guide-related deaths from the temporary Guide agencies she used. Apparently she went off the deep end not long after we landed. Reckon she probably sensed it – her Guide running off with another Sentinel or whatever – but she ended up killing a handful of temporary Guides in cold-blood in some sort of rage. The Mossad covered it all up of course, but some of Selima's friends were in the know enough to get us the warning."

"We ended up getting married when I turned nineteen, just to make it official – in case the Tower tried to pull some immigration crap. She worked on her citizenship, got a job teaching. I got hired on at the plant. Ignored every letter the Tower sent, trying to guilt me back and have one of their lap-dogs 'assess' our bond."

"We had an agreement, that if I ever came across my bonded we'd separate. But for the most part it just…worked. It wasn't perfect, but she kept me level. It was bearable. Better than being stuck in the Tower, anyway. We were even talking about kids before she got sick. I guess things evolved on us. From conspirators to best friends, then something a little more. You know how it goes," Tobin offered playing with the worn gold band on his ring-finger.

"She died about a month before this whole mess. Took me a long time to be grateful for that," Tobin remarked softly, looking around them. Gesturing at the downed walkers and the blood. Or maybe just the inherent violence of it. "This? The way things are now? It would have _killed_  her. She was gentle. The kind of person that took spiders outside rather than squashed them. Drove me nuts most of the time. But that was just who she was. "

The silence that came after the seemingly endless wave of words was awkward.

Nicholas looked thoughtful.

Or, as thoughtful as anyone could be while looking slightly murderous.

Tobin, on the other hand, just looked deflated – wrung clean and over-used.

"You did all that for  _her_. To keep  _her_ safe. And in the end, she didn't even have the decency to stick around?" Nicholas commented, just shy of biting as Tobin let go of a long, pent up breath. Frowning at the man's choice of words but being cut off from replying when the smaller man continued.

He caught Glenn's expression out of the corner of his eye. Unsurprised to find it conflicted.

"I mean, that explains why you're still kickin' – she wasn't your bonded, you survived her death by the skin of your teeth – but before, how'd you manage that?  _Living like that?_  Must have been torture," Nicholas stated, running a hand through sweaty curls, not seeming to notice when Tobin took a tentative inhale, head cocking – curious. "She was keepin' you fed, but not full. Must have felt like you were walkin' around half-starved every day."

"We made it work," Tobin launched back, borderline defensive as Nicholas shook his head, one hand cutting clean through the air between them. Posture radiating anger and pent up aggression.

"You chained yourself to a dead-end and you were the only one that suffered for it," Nicholas snapped, critical and caustically angry. Picking the words apart like he had some sort of personal stake in each and every one.

"I don't get it. Why do you care? Why are you here? You don't-"

"And you never found them?" Nicholas interrupted, blue eyes piercing. Leaning forward on the stump. Bracing his weight on where he'd wedged the end of his walking stick under a gnarl of roots.

"Who?" Tobin blinked, caught off guard when the man's tone did yet another three hundred and sixty degree turn back into something that could have almost be called soft.  _Open._  Maybe even vulnerable.

"Your true Guide?"

The Sentinel shook his head, wordless. Deflating again.

"…Did you ever hate them?" Nicholas asked before the echoes could die back down. Quiet but almost vibrating with it as he and Tobin met eyes over the flames. "For not coming forward? I mean, it had to be someone who was hiding, right? That's the only thing that makes sense."

For a long moment, he wasn't sure if Tobin was going to answer. Fixing Nicolas with an inscrutable look, like he wasn't sure how to interpret the question as everything in the smaller man's body language screamed how on edge he was. How close he was to just leaning forward and grabbing the Sentinel by the collar and _shaking_ the answers out of him.

_But why? Why would Nicholas care if-_

"Sometimes," Tobin admitted, palm rasping across a thin five-o'clock shadow. "Especially in the beginning - when I was younger - after I presented and was shut up in that damned Tower. Everything I had, everything I was…was just reaching out. Unfurling.  _Searching_. It's hard to describe. But it was like- imagine someone had taken your arm off then told you there was nothing they could do about the pain after the fact. Like they had the medication, but they didn't want to give it to you, then left you in your room to scream it out."

Nicholas shifted – discomfort grooving itself deep across the lines of his face.

"I was angry for a long time. I didn't understand. All I could see was that we couldn't be together because they hadn't done what they were supposed to. But-well, Selima knocked me straight on that one pretty darn quick," Tobin remarked wryly, the corners of his mouth picking up with the ghost of a grin before kicking soil over the spluttering fire. Smothering it slowly as Nicholas stared back at him, unblinking.

"She signed up with the Tower on her own free will because she felt something was missing in her life. She felt the calling, wanted it. But other people? Other Guides? Well, course, sometimes they don't. The Tower's history did a lot of damage. People are still afraid of what being a Guide means. And I don't blame them. Forty years ago it meant being torn out of your life and forced into a new one. And maybe it still means that – maybe it's just the words that have changed. I saw what they pulled to try and find my Guide, I was too young to understand at the time but all those people they dug up? They weren't just nervous, they were scared -  _grieving_. The people, their families, the lives they would have to leave behind all because I'd presented and couldn't so much as eat my breakfast without someone hanging off my elbow."

"But not to me," Tobin said firmly. "I wanted it to be what the pairing, the bond was supposed to be. I wanted a partner.  _An equal._  I wanted my Guide to be with me because they wanted to –  _because they felt it_  - not because they had no other choice. It is about individual choices. If we don't respect that, well, we aren't any better than we were before the Guide's rights reforms."

"Irony was, they could have been a god damned circus performer and I would have _willingly_  worn the tights. I would have followed them anywhere. I wouldn't have forced-" Tobin cut himself off, shaking his head. "But I guess that doesn't matter now."

A muscle in Nicholas' cheek twitched.

"Not much for personal pride are you?" the smaller man commented after a moment, only once again his tone didn't seem to match up with the hurt the words could have carried. More wondering and scathingly victorious – like he'd just seen himself proven right - then anything else.

But Tobin didn't seem to catch the inflection. Instead, he rocked back, shaking his head.

"This isn't about personal pride. It's about what's fair -  _right_. I know what Guides had to give up. What they  _still_ have to give up. If I'd found my Guide back then, our asses would have been glued to Black Ops for years. I was too young, too dumb to see it at the time, but the choice? When the Tower gets to you first? It's just an illusion," Tobin responded, curt and angry as the lines around his eyes crinkled, using the pause to suck in a breath before continuing, huffing a half-laugh into the wrinkled mess of his collar – self-criminating - before looking back up again.

"Besides, personal pride implies you still have something left to lose. That there's something out there that can  _still_  hurt you. That you  _haven't_  hit rock bottom. And I think we both know I hit that a long time ago."

He kicked at the side of the tree, watching the mouldering bark splinter wetly.

_Man had a point._

"So are you going to tell Deanna? Rick?" Tobin asked resignedly, flat in its inflection but with a dove-tail of curiosity piping in at the dredges. Tucking his chin into his collar as he realized they'd been holding each other's stare for more an a few minutes. Smoothing the flat of his palms up and down the curve of his thighs – measured and soothing.

Nicholas just snorted at that, as if he felt as though Tobin was being particularly stupid.

"No," the man replied, simple and right to the point. But about as clear as mud as he felt his own head tilt, trying to make sense of it as Nicholas squared his shoulders and straightened. Going eye to eye with the Sentinel from across the smoking coals as the forest canopy muted itself in unsteady anticipation.

"No?" Tobin repeated, shaking his head, like he didn't understand. "Why not?"

"Because I want you to touch me."


	9. Chapter 9

There was an interesting dichotomy playing out in front of them. A shadow play of mirrored gestures and unconscious want. And the two men seemed to be caught right in the middle of it. Responding and expressing in kind, as if they were able to sense where the lapsing silences needed to lull and breathe. Falling quiet just before the other made to speak. Complementing without so much as a hitch in the natural rhythm as Sentinel and man watched each other through the shifting smoke.

"Touch you?" Tobin repeated, flushing red like there was some sort of connotation they weren't privy to. "Why-"

But Nicholas ignored him. Giving him the distinct impression that the man was dead set on  _baiting_  him. Teasing him along, the same way they'd let things with Tobin breathe. Like there was something he wanted to make sure of before he answered – before he committed to going through with wherever this play was heading.

"I wondered, you know. Back when  _they_  first came. I wondered why you _lied_  to Deanna," Nicholas started, gaze distant, like he was watching something come together in real-time. Too distracted to pay the nonplussed Sentinel any mind as the man's mouth fish-tailed in confusion.

The undergrowth shifted behind him and he didn't have to look to know that Deanna had stiffened at the mention. Eyes narrowing as she joined him, shoulder to shoulder beside the tree. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling a raise in the tension as Nicholas seemed to hit his stride.

"I didn't get it at first when I heard. It wasn't until afterwards that it all fell into place. You are full of it, Tobin. You know that?" Nicholas snapped, a strange mix of incredulity and frustration as the Sentinel went rigid. Eyes following the walking stick as it jerked with the force of the man's words, tip deep into the dirt as Nicholas hissed wordlessly.

"The killer is you don't even realize it. Do you? Your control was down the shitter. And because of that you figured someone else needed to be in charge, but you knew it would raise too much suspicion after Deanna gave you the reins of the construction team," Nicholas growled, ploughing through every time Tobin made to object as Deanna's posture drew tight beside him.

"So you staged it. You knew that ginger _fuck_  would save Francine. You did the math. You knew the situation could be dealt with -  _would be dealt with_ \- then you just played your part and took the abuse that came after."

"You resigned, played the meek, careful coward. Made Deanna and Reg believe it too. And all the while you were really protecting them.  _From you_. You realize that don't you? You  _are_  a  _Sentinel_. To the point that you can't even separate the two, even if you wanted to."

" _Unfucking_  believable. And you think  _you're_  compromised?" Nicholas snorted, levering himself to his feet with a brutal wrench on his bad leg. Shaking his head and cussing out a blue streak like he could barely stand the words that were coming out of his mouth. Looking down at Tobin with a torn expression. A damning mixture of rage and desire, betrayal and righteous fury that was somehow making more sense by the minute. Only Tobin just  _wasn't_  getting it. Everyone else was catching on, flying by the hang-nails as they turned the idea over and over in their heads.

_Could it be? Could Nicholas actually be-_

The flat of his tongue slicked across the plaque-streaked grooves of his teeth. Working through it. Not really seeing the change until Tobin stretched. Filling the awkward, empty seconds by twisting this way, then that. Letting go of a surprised sound when the movement came and went without resistance. It was how he imagined someone who'd been living with a chronic ache for most of their life would react if one day they woke up and found it inexplicably gone.

Glenn's expression was a mess of conflict. Watching as Nicholas' walking stick bit into the ground every other step. Like he was trying to put together two very different versions of the same person and was coming up empty on understanding how they fit.

The next time he looked up –  _really looked_  - he blinked in surprise. It was like the drug was wearing off right in front of them. Weaning itself from the bloodstream in living time the longer the two of them went at it. But instead of being worse off for it, instead of devolving back, Tobin seemed to be  _strengthening_. Already a far cry from the desperate, broken man who'd stumbled into the clearing no more than an hour ago.

Because Tobin's spine was straight, sitting tall and proud, radiating with alertness as keen eyes watched Nicholas pace – missing nothing as the smaller man lost his predatory calm. Body language fluctuating between discomfort and anger as a healthy glow returned to the Sentinel's face.

"Abraham was the best choice, regardless. He might not know much about construction, but he's a good leader. He'll keep them safe. I'm not going back on that," Tobin responded, tone strong enough that it nearly gave Nicholas whip-lash. "Like them or not, Nicholas, but they've been out there! We haven't. Not like them. They know what it's like, what it takes and they made it here  _together_ , not apart. That says somethin'."

"You're _miles_  better than all of them," Nicholas insisted, hand flinging back at in the direction of the gates. "But you just gave it up, bowed out, let 'em believe you weren't good for it. And for what? So you could quietly self-destruct in this shit-hole?!"

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" Tobin returned, rigid. "What the hell is all this about? What does it matter that I couldn't handle having their blood on my hands? That I didn't have it in me to take the chance?!"

"Funny," Nicholas grated, stalking forward, budging right into Tobin's space – aggressive and threatening like the steep draw of a climax. "Most Sentinels usually like to  _bathe_  in that shit. It's a good excuse isn't? To let the monster out? Anything for the cause? Am I right? That's what they teach you up in that Tower isn't it?! To get the job done and just fuck everything else? It's all collateral damage up in there, isn't it?  _Isn't it!?_ "

"Not all of us! Not me.  _Not me!_ " Tobin hissed, eyes flashing angry and alive – truly alive - for the first time since all this had started. Wide and piercing bright as the Sentinel jerked to his feet, towering over Nicholas by a mile as the two of them held their ground.

But it seemed like that was what the man had been waiting to hear, because instead of answering, a slow, satisfied – terrified – sort of grin made tracks across Nicholas' face. Rocking back on his heels before he firmed his stance and looked up, refusing to give even an inch as Tobin loomed over him.

"And  _that's_  why you are worth it."

"Worth what?" Tobin replied, frustrated and frayed as his fists curled at his sides. Cutting a picture worth remembering as they stared each other down. Two sides of the same scratched up coin as the weak sunlight filtered through the trees.

" _Worth a Guide_. You're Different. You aren't them-you aren't like them. You don't need to prove your worth.  _You know it,"_ Nicholas growled, looking like he wanted to shake him. Nearly vibrating with it as Tobin took a step back in surprise, looking at the smaller man like he'd never seen anything quite like him before. "That was what settled you, it wasn't Selima. Not all of it. If that was all you'd had? Well, you would've never made it. Deep down you knew yourself. Who you were. You can look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the day and not hate what you saw. That was all you wanted."

"And I need to know," Nicholas added, swallowing hard, a nervous tic throbbed just below his jaw-line. "I need to know if-"

"What? You need to know what?" Tobin pressed, reclaiming the step he'd taken and shuffling forward another careful inch. Catching on to the importance of the moment in the smallest of fractions as the frustrated expression softened into something close to uncertainty and a desperate, impossible sort of yearning.

"…If you're mine."


End file.
